


Moment of Truth

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Blackwood do the right thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Remote Control #2, Kathy Agel editor, and reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #20 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"Suzanne, this isn't a good situation here…"_

 

Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse watched as his Omega Squad units A and B moved carefully through the warehouse, checking for any remaining aliens and collecting the few items of their technology that remained intact after the assault.  It had been a hard-fought encounter – the human hosts the aliens inhabited a unit of combat-trained United States Marines.  The colonel and his men had been lucky; only three of the squad had been wounded.  No one had died, this time.

Ironhorse glanced sadly at the numerous puddles of bubbling slime that had once been good Marines.  They died in battle; that, at least, was something.  However, if the aliens continued to target military personnel as hosts, he was going to need additional troops.  He sighed.  It was time he joined the clean-up operation.  He'd worry more about the consequences later, when he could afford the time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The colonel's battle sense buzzed furiously as he scouted along a narrow corridor between stacks of aluminum scaffolding designed to hold telecommunications conduit.  There was _something_ watching him.  Ironhorse slowed, the HK-MP5 resting ready in his hand, eyes scanning over each space he found and flicking overhead regularly to prevent an attack from above.  The something was getting closer.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Harrison Blackwood, enigmatic leader of the Blackwood Project, stood with Suzanne McCullough, team microbiologist, while they swept the last section of the warehouse with Geiger counters to measure the levels of radiation left behind.  Hoping a study of the half-life intervals before the building returned to an ambient level of atmospheric radiation might help them track the aliens' movement, both members of the Project took readings, calling back the results to team computer expert, Norton Drake.

Norton sat in his combination transportation/rolling computer terminal – a large green van otherwise known affectionately as the "Green Machine" – and fed the data into a waiting terminal.

"I wish Paul would hurry up," Suzanne muttered under her breath.  She finished the last of her readings.  "Down to green in grid three, Norton.  This place gives me the creeps."

"Gotcha.  And you know the Colonel, Suzanne," Drake said from inside the van.  "He won't be happy until he's peeled the walls back to see if any aliens are hiding in there."

"Given the sophistication of this set-up, that might not be a bad idea," Blackwood said, distracted as he watched the needle of his Geiger counter twitch spasmodically.  "There's something important happening, but we're not seeing it.  Why did they risk an operation on a military base?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The attack came suddenly, Ironhorse already turning as the human/alien grabbed for him from behind.  A spreading circle of moisture on the back of the colonel's field jacket soaked into the fabric unnoticed as the feel of the hand on his back fired the soldier's reflexes and he spun, dropping to one knee, raking the MP5 across the narrow space, and sending several rounds into the thing's mid-section.  The soft ring of something metal dropping against the metal-grated flooring was lost in the report.

The infested Marine flew back against the conduit ladders, jerking as though hooked to live current as he began to dissolve.

Ironhorse stood, his body humming with the rush of battle, his senses and reflexes, elevated above their normal capacity, caught sounds from distant parts of the building.  Turning away, he took a deep breath and completed his sweep before heading back to the van.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

More nervous after hearing the nearby burst of fire, Harrison and Suzanne moved closer to the safety of the van.  Their readings were finished, and Suzanne wondered why Harrison hadn't stopped monitoring the warehouse with his Geiger counter.

"I've got something here," Blackwood said softly.

"What?" Suzanne asked, moving to stand next to him at the front of the vehicle.  She glanced around, but only the Omega Squad soldiers moved about, carrying out their assorted clean-up duties.  Somewhere nearby Ironhorse's voice barked out orders to his men.

"The needle's starting to go crazy."

Suzanne's face paled.  "You mean one of Omega—"

"Is an alien," the astrophysicist finished for her.

"We have to tell Paul."

Blackwood nodded.  The colonel's voice grew louder as he stepped out of the shadows, calling to the nearest soldier. "Alverez, there's some more equipment along the south wall.  Take someone and go get it."

"Yes, sir!"

Harrison felt his knees go weak.  "Suzanne?"

He aimed the Geiger counter toward Alverez and the needle crackled and fell back to a near-normal reading.  Swinging the device toward Ironhorse, the needle bounced to red and the crackle popped more furiously.

"Oh, God, not Paul.  Please, not Paul," the microbiologist whispered, her hand rising to rest at the base of her throat.

"And I let him go in there alone," Harrison replied, his eyes fixed on the Special Forces officer.  "I should've gone with him, it's my—"

"But he _can't_ be," she whispered.  He looked so normal, black eyes quickly and efficiently scanning his men as they carried out his orders.  The HK-MP5, held loosely in his hand, was ready in case of trouble, and his casual stance could not hide the strength and power waiting just below the surface.  Still, after what had happened with Adrian, she knew there was no way to be absolutely certain.  No way but her heart, which told her Ironhorse was _not_ an alien.

The pair's attention remained riveted on the man as he continued to direct the clean-up operation.  "What're we going to do?  We can't be sure," she started to argue, not wanting to believe they could have lost a friend so easily.

"But we _are_ ," Blackwood hissed.  "Remember Beeton?  Grover's Mill?  Ohio?  We tested those people with the Geiger counter.  They were hot, and they were aliens.  Adrian proved how resourceful they can be."

"But that's _Paul_ ," Suzanne whispered, her own panic threatening to overwhelm her sense of survival.  "If he was absorbed why would he be acting so normally?  He could've just shot us."

"Maybe he wants to get back to the Cottage," Blackwood said softly.  "Wouldn't you, if you were an alien and you just got access to all his memories and knowledge?"

Suzanne's eyes flew wide.  "Debi— The research.  Harrison, what're we going to do?"

"I have to stop him," Harrison said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than Suzanne.

Ironhorse's gaze lifted and he glanced in their direction as if he knew they were talking about him.  One eyebrow arched in an achingly familiar expression.  The two scientists pressed closer together.

"Harrison, he _can't_ be," she insisted.  "That's Paul.  I can feel it."

Harrison took the Geiger counter from her hand, trading it for his.  He tested a second time; the results were identical.  "Suzanne, that's _not_ the Colonel any more."  His hands shaking, Blackwood stepped back to the open driver's side window of the van.  "Norton, hand me the gun."

Drake's attention was completely severed from the data that scrolled by on the computer monitor, and he turned a startled look on his friend.  Blackwood hated guns, refused to carry one, even when he was following the colonel into a den full of aliens.  If he was asking for one, all hell was going to break loose.

          Taking the M9 off the top of his terminal he maneuvered the wheelchair to the window and handed it through.  "What's up?" he asked, the usual humor drained from his voice.

Harrison took the gun, his shoulders hunched against some unseen chill, but did not reply.

Slightly annoyed, Drake looked past Blackwood to the microbiologist.  "Suzanne, do you want to clue me in here?"

She pressed back hard against the door of the van, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, Norton, I can't watch.  What're we going to do?"

"About _what?_ " the black man pressed, feeling like he'd walked in on the third act of a horror show.

"Paul.  He's— He's…"

"Ironhorse?  Is he hurt?"  Drake leaned forward in his wheelchair so he could crane his neck and see out the window.  He spotted the colonel standing with his hand on his hip as he watched his men.  "What're you guys talking about?  That's our colonel, and he looks fine."

"He's— He's been absorbed," Suzanne whispered, her eyes squeezing shut so she wouldn't have to watch what she knew was coming, but they sprang back open. She couldn't hide.

Many months earlier, when it was clear that Blackwood wasn't going to remain in the background on these missions, he and Ironhorse had made a pact, agreeing that should the other be taken over, the one left would do whatever it took to free the human soul trapped in the condemned body as soon as possible.

"You're sure?" Drake gasped, his fingers curling tightly on the arms of the voice-activated wheelchair.

"The Geiger counter's in the red," Suzanne said, trying to believe.  " _Both_ Geiger counters."

"Big problem," Drake concluded, feeling like the world had suddenly been set off its axis.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse watched the scientists out of the corner of his eye.  Something had upset them, but they weren't asking for his attention, so he ignored it.  It was more important that he get the operation completed before anyone arrived to ask questions he'd have to create lies to cover.

When it appeared that the last of the equipment was being loaded and all the sweep teams had reassembled, having found no more aliens, the colonel allowed himself to relax slightly, the lingering effects of his own encounter making it next to impossible.

He started for the van.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Harrison?" Suzanne whispered, nearing a panic when Ironhorse broke away from Omega and started toward them, still carrying the MP5.

Blackwood held the gun in his fist, his fingers squeezing the grip so hard they turned white.  Staring down at the Geiger counter in his other hand, he watched the needle climb ever higher as the man approached.

          "I promised him I'd do it, Suzanne.  I gave him my word."  Blackwood looked up, his blue eyes meeting the colonel's black ones.  "I owe him that much."  His gaze locked on the monster.  How dare it look so much like his friend?

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse's forehead wrinkled, drawing several strands of the black hair down to brush dark eyebrows as he walked over to join the three Project scientists.  Suzanne looked like she was ready to faint, Blackwood was as grim as Paul could remember seeing him, and, if he didn't know better, he would have sworn that Norton was cowering in the van.

He was in for some bad news.  And bad news was exactly what he _didn't_ want to hear.  _They must've discovered something serious_ , he thought.  "Just what we didn't need," he concluded aloud.

The colonel's pace slowed, then stopped as Blackwood raised the M9.  Catching the man's eyes, Ironhorse opened his mouth to speak, but events dissolved too quickly.

Paul's first thought was, _Good God, Blackwood's been absorbed_ , but the naked fear and sorrow in the man's eyes told the soldier that conclusion was wrong. The weapon leveled off, and Blackwood began to squeeze.

Ironhorse's gaze flicked to the barrel of the weapon and back to Harrison's eyes, where horror and helplessness had taken over.  _He thinks I'm an alien!_

Paul knew the shooting occurred in a span of a few seconds, but it slowed in his conscious mind, each detail rendered in high-definition slow-motion.  The blast echoed in his ears, and his reflexes, wound beyond control by the adrenaline surge from the earlier attack, took over.  He threw himself to the side, hoping to avoid the shot.

At the same moment he lunged Ironhorse knew he'd made a mistake.  The movement carried him into the line of fire, and he felt the sharp thrust of agony in his upper chest as the bullet hit, spinning him around and slapping him to the ground.

The Omega Squad members nearby responded to the shot instantaneously, taking up defensive positions while Derriman and Stravrakos lunged to grab Blackwood, slamming him into the front of the van before he could get off a second shot.  The civilian offered no resistance as they pinned him between them, each holding an arm.  Stravrakos' hand snapped out to jerk the gun away, but the grip Harrison had on it made that impossible.  Realizing he'd have to break the man's wrist to free the weapon, the sergeant decided to wait, his hand wrapped around the scientist's – just in case.

Coleman rushed for the colonel, Blackwood yelling, "No!"

 _Why isn't he dissolving?_ Harrison screamed silently.  _The Geiger counter!  It had to be right!  What have I done?  What are you?_

Ignoring the warning, the sergeant dropped down next to the fallen man and gently turned him over.  Blood soaked through the front and back of his field jacket, turning the olive drab a deep crimson.  Harrison closed his eyes, a low, keening moan escaping his lips.

Derriman and Stravrakos moved him back farther, their own anger and confusion making the maneuver less than gentle.

"What the hell's goin' on?" Derriman demanded, shaking Blackwood, but the scientist refused to reply, withdrawing further into his own overwhelming confusion and grief.

Ironhorse opened his eyes and fought to focus on the soldier holding him in a seated position:   _Coleman_.  His gaze sought out Blackwood, and he sucked in a sharp breath.  He'd never seen a man look that pale and still on his feet.

"Get me up," he growled softly to the woman.

Wrapping one arm around his back and tucking her shoulder under his uninjured one, Coleman stood, pulling him up.  Ironhorse released a hiss through clenched teeth as he forced his legs under himself and pushed.  His chest and shoulder burned with an intensity that threatened to wipe away what little consciousness he clung to, but he took a deep breath and forced the pain back.

Now was _not_ the time.  If he passed out there was no telling what might happen.  His men were on edge, their weapons trained on Blackwood, Suzanne and the van.  A few of the men even had their weapons trained on him.  At least everyone remained frozen in place, like mechanical dolls that had run out of power, waiting.

          Fixing a black gaze on the microbiologist he snapped, "Suzanne, explain."

The woman shook her head, tears filling her eyes and spilling over her cheeks.  Ironhorse cursed softly under his breath.  At times the fact he was working with civilians made itself abundantly clear; this was one of them.

"Stay close," Ironhorse commanded Coleman quietly.  "If I go down, see to it _nothing_ happens to these people until General Wilson's contacted, understand?"

"Yes, sir," the sergeant nodded, releasing her hold on him.  She knew the colonel needed to take immediate control of the situation, and he wouldn't be able to do that if she was helping him stand.  He moved slowly, his good hand hugging his injured arm to his side.  Staying close, she followed the officer to the van, where he confronted the microbiologist a second time.

"Suzanne, what the hell's going on?"

She shook her head, trembling fingers coming up to cover her mouth.

Paul turned to Norton, who sat at the driver's window, a stunned look on his face.  "Mr. Drake, can you explain?"

"I don't know," Norton said, his voice rough and accusatory.  "The Doc asked me for the gun, the Geiger counters said you're an alien."

Ironhorse sighed.  This line of questioning was going nowhere fast and he could already see a band of black tightening, cutting off his peripheral vision.  He felt the additional weapons move to cover him.  Reaching out a shaking hand, he started to touch Suzanne, but she skittered backwards with a half-cry, confused.  The weapons shifted back to her.

"Suzanne, this isn't a good situation here, talk to me.  We have to clear this up.  Now," Ironhorse demanded.

The movement shook her from the tight grip of the initial shock and she nodded.  "The Geiger counter," she stuttered.  "It went crazy.  We thought— We thought— God, Paul. We thought you'd been taken over!"

He nodded.  _Okay, that's better.  She sounds like she's getting her composure back_.  Now he just had to get everyone checked out so the fear would let them all think clearly.

"Sir?" Coleman's voice sounded over his shoulder.

"What is it, Sergeant?"

"Sir, is there a reason why the back of your jacket's wet?"

Ironhorse was about to snap out a nasty reply when he saw Suzanne's brow furrow.  Taking the Geiger counter she still held, she turned it on and held it up to Ironhorse, the needle immediately jumping to the red zone and crackling loudly.

He sucked in a breath.  _No wonder they thought I'd been absorbed!_

Walking around Ironhorse, still afraid to get too close, Suzanne watched the needle edge farther up.  She also noted the guns that followed her.

"That's it!" she exclaimed.  "Paul, you have to get out of that jacket.  _Now!_ "

Moving to shrug the coat off, Ironhorse bit back a cry.  Coleman stepped closer, helping him out of the field jacket and handing it to one of the Omegans.

Suzanne used the Geiger counter checking the jacket as it was carried away and watched the meter drop.  She turned the device back on Paul, and while the reading was higher than normal, it was much less than it had been.

The colonel swayed on his feet.  "Goodson!" he barked.

"Yes, sir," the young medic said, stepping forward.  "Suzanne, is the portable microscope here?"

She nodded.

"Good, use it.  Show Goodson you and Norton still have pure red flowing in your veins, understand?"

She nodded, her original panic now shifting to fear for Ironhorse's condition as she watched the circular stain on the front of his shirt growing larger.

"Listen up," Paul snapped at the waiting soldiers.  "Once Dr. McCullough and Mr. Drake are checked out, I want you to turn your weapons over to them _in pairs_.  You will let Dr. McCullough check you.  The rest of you will cover.  Once you're cleared, pick up your weapons and get the hell back to the Cottage.  Understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, sir!" was the immediate reply.

Shuffling over to Derriman and Stravrakos, he leveled a dark, angry glare on them.  "Let him go – now."

"I think he'll fall down if we do, sir," Derriman said, the apology clear in his voice.

Ironhorse forced his anger back.  His men were just doing their job, just as Harrison had been.  There was no one to blame, no one but the damned aliens.

"Blackwood?  Harrison, can you hear me?  Come on, Doctor, it's over.  Snap out of it," Ironhorse said.

The astrophysicist remained unchanged, his gaze locked on the floor, seeing something the others were not privy to.  Paul wondered if what Blackwood was seeing was him, falling, after taking the bullet.  At least the blood was slowly returning to the scientist's face, but it did nothing to erase the vacant, haunted look on the man's face.

"Sir, an ambulance is on the way," Alverez yelled.

Ironhorse started shaking, his knees growing weak as the last of the adrenaline rush disappeared from his system.  He started to fall, but Coleman was there, her arms wrapping around him to stop his descent to the floor.

"Make sure Blackwood and I are both tested.  And put Blackwood in the ambulance with me," Ironhorse told the sergeant just before he passed out.

"I will, sir," Coleman promised.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne and Norton paced the pastel-painted hospital waiting room, Drake buzzing in his motorized wheelchair while the microbiologist wandered back and forth along the large windows that opened on a view of the ocean that she would normally have found breathtaking.  She shuffled to a stop, trying to concentrate on the calm rhythm of the waves, but it was useless.

 _Where_ was the doctor?  _How_ was Paul?  And _what_ had they done with Harrison?  Much longer and she was going to go get Omega and launch an assault on the nurses station.  Every time someone new appeared, she had asked for information, but all she'd heard was, "The doctor will be out to see you as soon as possible."

The buzzing stopped as Norton spotted a young man in a white lab coat headed their way.  "Whoa, Gertrude," he said.  The man smiled sympathetically at the pair, but continued walking, the two Project members exchanging frustrated looks as he passed.

"I hate waiting," McCullough said.  "I really do."

"I know what you mean," Norton said.  "It wouldn't be so bad, if they'd just give us a clue.  Maybe if I could get to a terminal, I—"

"If we don't hear something soon, I'm calling in the squad," Suzanne interrupted.  She knew several of them had decided to creatively interpret Paul's last orders and remain at the hospital.  Earlier, Coleman had been reading quietly in the waiting room with Suzanne and Norton, but the microbiologist couldn't remember when she had left, or why. Derriman now sat in her place, trying hard not to smile at her comment.

Drake nodded.  "Now, that sounds like the kind of move a certain colonel we both know might try."

Suzanne smiled.

"Excuse me?"

The pair turned to find a woman in a light purple lab coat waiting for their attention. Her straight blond hair was cut in a functional short bob, bangs and freckles mixing to give her a youthful girl-next-door look.  Her dark blue eyes sparkled with latent humor.  She smiled.

"Alison?" Suzanne asked in amazement.  "Ali!"

"Suz!" the other woman responded.  The two women stepped forward, giving each other warm hugs.  "It's good to see you, McCullough."

They pulled apart, smiles still on their faces.  "You too, _Doctor_ Richards."  The woman smiled.  "I don't believe it.  It's been way too long," Suzanne concluded.

"You aren't kidding there.  And yes, I finally made it through the residency-from-hell, a divorce, and five moves in the last three years.  But I'm one of the staff surgeons here, and head of orthopedics."

"Congratulations," Suzanne said, patting her on the arm.  "Oh, Alison, this is Norton Drake.  Norton, Alison Richards, my best friend since our first day in freshman biology.  We stuck together like glue all the way through undergrad and gradschool.  It _is_ still Richards, isn't it?"

"Sure is.  I never gave up my maiden name," Dr. Richards replied, wagging her eyebrows.  "Call me psychic."

"Pleased to meet you," Norton said, extending a hand.  "You didn't happen to run into a cranky colonel with a bullet in his shoulder, did you?"

"I sure did.  And cranky is an excellent description of his disposition in pre-op," Alison replied.

"You treated Paul?  How is he?" Suzanne asked, her worry returning.

"He's doing fine.  Look, I'm dead on my feet; can we walk down to the cafeteria so I can get an infusion of caffeine?  I'll tell you what I know once I can think straight."

"A woman who has her priorities straight!" Drake exclaimed.  "I like that."

"No, just one who has eight hours of a twenty-four hour shift still left," she said around a yawn.

They headed for the elevator, Suzanne already feeling better.  If Alison wasn't worried, then Paul must be on the road to a complete recovery.  Now, if Ali just knew something about Harrison…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The two Project members sipped their coffee, both wishing it was one of Norton's special blends.  Alison finished the last bite of a bowl of mixed fruit suspended in red Jell-o and continued.  "…so, the shot entered beneath the clavicle, missed the ribs and exited above the scapula.  The man's darn lucky."

"Any damage to the joint?" Suzanne asked, her own past training in anatomy kicking in.

Richards shook her head as she sampled her cup of coffee.  "The path was clear of the shoulder girdle.  There's some muscle damage, but it's minimal, and we'll have to wait to determine the extent of the nerve damage, but I feel very positive overall.  It was a very clean wound.  With some serious physical therapy Colonel Ironhorse should regain near or complete function in that arm, give or take a few degrees of motion."

"That is good news," Norton smiled.  He liked the woman.  She had Suzanne's dedication and professionalism, a sense of humor, an appreciation of caffeine, and she was cute.

"Do you know anything about our other friend?" Suzanne asked.  "Harrison Blackwood?"

Alison shook her head.  "Afraid not, Suz.  I'm just the on-call orthopedic surgeon.  But I might be able to find out.  Why don't you sit tight and let me check.  I have to drop in on a couple of other post-ops, too."

"We really appreciate this," Suzanne said as Dr. Richards stood to leave.  She smiled.  "We care a lot about those two."

"Yep, and now it's one down, one to go," Drake said, reaching out to pat the microbiologist on the arm.

Suzanne smiled and leaned over to get a hug.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Alison said, leaving the pair to their coffee.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Two hours later, Alison found the two Project members back in the waiting room. "What?" Suzanne asked.  Ali seemed annoyed.

"Harrison Blackwood was admitted to the psych ward for a seventy-two hour mental health hold and evaluation," the physician explained.

"What?  That's crazy.  There's nothing wrong with Harrison, he's just—"  Suzanne stopped.  Harrison had just shot his best friend.  The memory of Sylvia van Buren flashed through her mind.  _Oh, God_ , she sighed inwardly.  "How is he?"

"Sedated, at the moment.  Evidently he was semi-cataplexic when they brought him in and non-responsive to verbal stimuli.  But when they started their physical examination he became highly agitated and they were forced to sedate him."  She paused before adding, "He kept demanding to see Colonel Ironhorse."

"Can we see him?" Norton asked.

"Not for seventy-two hours," Alison said and sighed.

"But we're his friends.  He doesn't have any family besides us.  Ali, can't you do something?" McCullough implored her friend.

"I'm afraid I just don't have any clout up there.  It sounds like they're doing what they think is best for him."

          Suzanne nodded.  It was what she expected.  "I called Uncle Hank.  I was afraid this might get out of our hands, and I _hate_ being out-of-control."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

A faint, steady beat, like that of a shaman's drum, called Ironhorse back from the fuzzy gray depths induced by the anesthesia and painkillers.  He focused on the sound and rode it back to consciousness, finally identifying it as a monitor keeping tabs on the IV flow.

 _A hospital_.  The characteristic smell confirmed his hypothesis.

A deep, dull ache in his shoulder and upper chest announced itself and settled in for a long stay.  Ironhorse left his eyes closed; senses honed in more battles than he could remember informed him he was alone.  Reluctantly he reviewed the events that had led him to the post-op bed…

Drake had located a source of alien transmissions at a U.S. Marine Corps station down the coast.  General Wilson arranged for him and his Omega Squad to respond to the situation – alone.  How the general managed to keep the base MPs out of the action was a trick the younger officer wished he could borrow.  Maybe it could be modified to keep Blackwood out of trouble.

 _Harrison…  Damn_ , the soldier thought.

The human/alien who'd attacked him in the telecommunications conduits must've had something on him that was radioactive.  _And that got on my jacket_ , he deduced, remembering Coleman's words.

 _But what was it?  Suzanne needs to look into that.  And we'll have to establish a new check-out procedure.  The Geiger counters can be fooled, and all I need is for my soldier to start shooting each other based on misinformation_.

 _So, I was radioactive for a while, and Harrison picked that up on his Geiger counter. He asked Norton for the gun and did the only thing he could do…_ Ironhorse paused, replaying the moment of the shooting over in his mind, the details as clear as an instant replay.

 _He missed_ , Paul realized. _Blackwood missed me on purpose.  Damn it!  He should've wasted me!_

Anger mounting, Ironhorse opened his eyes and glanced around the room.  It didn't look like intensive care.  "Thank you, Grandfather," he mumbled through dry lips.

Looking down at the thick dressing lying across his left shoulder and upper chest, he tried to take a deep breath and found it painful, but not excessively so; no collapsed lung.

The memory of Blackwood's expression crept in to haunt Ironhorse's thoughts.  He remembered telling Coleman to get the man into the ambulance, and he had no doubt that she carried out that order.

So, where was Harrison?  How was he?  Ironhorse wanted answers, and he wanted them _now_.

Reaching for the buzzer lying along the bed near his pillow, he stabbed the button.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Alison stopped by the waiting room she was now convinced Suzanne and Norton were camping in, and found them both sleeping.  Deciding to let them rest, she started to go but was stopped by the microbiologist's question.

"Anything wrong?" Suzanne asked, her voice still slurred with sleep.

"No, nothing.  I just wanted to see how you two were doing," Alison replied.

McCullough smiled sheepishly – at least the Omegans at the hospital had been taking shifts.  "I think they're going to throw us out soon if we don't at least get showers."

"Day two, thirty hours, and counting.  It's not a pretty sight," Norton added, rolling over to join them.

Dr. Richards grinned.  "Look, why don't you two head over to my place, take a shower, get some sleep."

"Oh, no, Ali, we couldn't.  You've done so much."

They all looked down when Alison's beeper went off.  "Hmm, looks like something's up with your colonel."

"Trouble?"

"I don't know.  Come on," she said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse glowered at the nurse standing next to the IV pole.  She had raised the head of the bed, but steadfastly refused to detach the soldier from either of the IV's, nor would she supply him with his clothes – not that there were many left after the ER staff had cut him out of the fatigues.

Dr. Richards entered, taking in the sight with a practiced eye.  "Colonel Ironhorse, I presume."

The man's dark eyebrows climbed slightly.

"Is there a good reason you're giving this overworked and under-appreciated nurse such a difficult time?"

He felt guilty and resented the fact the blond doctor could elicit the feeling so easily. "I simply want to—"

"Wait.  Let me guess," Alison cut him off.  "Go home?"

The peaked eyebrows rose higher.  "Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do."  He pulled the blanket up, growing even more uncomfortable as her gaze expertly perused his person.  "I also want to talk to whoever is treating Harrison Blackwood."

Alison nodded for the nurse to go and the young woman fled, thankful to leave the handsome but difficult patient in someone else's hands.  Turning her attention back to the man, the physician grinned.  "I must say, Colonel, you certainly live up to your reputation."

The black eyes narrowed.  "Excuse me, Doctor?"

"I've been talking to two very worried friends of yours, and they warned me you'd be cranky about the accommodations."

The man's expression clouded.

"I'm sure we can reach a compromise."

"Look, Doctor, I simply want to leave."  He shifted on the bed, her near-playful expression making him self-conscious.  How much had Norton and Suzanne said?  "And I want to know where Dr. Blackwood is.  How long was I out?"

The surgeon walked to the bedside and quickly examined Ironhorse as she spoke.  "You've been sleeping for about thirty hours.  The wound is doing nicely, and there are no signs of infection."

"Then I can leave," the soldier said hopefully.

"Not so fast, Colonel.  You sustained some muscle and nerve damage in there.  I'd like to make sure you regain full use of this arm.  As a soldier, I'm sure you want the same thing.  I hope you'll be willing to help me see to it that that happens."

The seriousness of her tone, along with her honesty, stopped short the argument he was about to launch.  "Is it that bad?" he asked, his anxiety unhidden.

"Not now, no, but if you get up and start using that arm before you should, there _will_ be permanent damage," she cautioned him.

"What about Dr. Blackwood?" Ironhorse asked, surrendering the first skirmish.

"I'm not his physician," Alison stalled.

"Doctor, what _aren't_ you telling me?"

"Colonel, let's make a deal," she offered.  "I'll tell you what you want to know about Harrison Blackwood and you give me your word that you won't even _think_ about leaving that bed for another twenty-four hours."

Ironhorse weighed the woman's proposal.  She was holding back information about Blackwood.  That meant something was up, something he probably wasn't going to like.  She'd also heard far more than she should have from Suzanne and Norton concerning his nature.  He'd definitely have to talk to them about that.  They needed a better understanding of "need to know."  His options were limited.  And, he admitted silently, he wasn't ready to tackle anything beyond another twelve hours of sleep.

"Deal, Doctor," he said, his shoulders drooping slightly in defeat.

"Good," Alison said, patting his shoulder gently.

"Now, talk," Ironhorse growled, trying to sound more menacing than was physically possible at the moment.

"I'll let Suzanne and Norton fill you in.  Ten minutes, Colonel, then I come back and toss them out."

He nodded agreement.

Going to the door, she opened it, allowing the two Project members to enter. "I'll be back in fifteen," Alison whispered to Suzanne as she passed.  The microbiologist nodded.

The two civilians proceeded to the side of the bed, neither meeting Ironhorse's dark, questioning glance.

"How're you feeling?" Drake asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence, but staring steadfastly at the IV pole.

"How's Blackwood?" Ironhorse demanded.

Suzanne glanced up and Paul locked her stare with one of his own.  "They still have him here," she said simply.

"Is he all right?" Ironhorse's voice dropped, the sincere concern touching both Project members.

Norton took a deep breath and pushed the wheelchair back so he could see the soldier.  "We don't really know," he admitted, deciding to tell the man and get it over with. "They put him up on the psych ward; said we couldn't see him for seventy-two hours."

"What?" the soldier demanded.  The spark of fear he'd been fighting since he'd awoke flared into a near panic.

"They had to sedate him yesterday.  I guess he got a little violent when they tried to examine him," Suzanne said hesitantly.

"People, what were you thinking about?" Ironhorse snapped angrily.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Suzanne shot back.  "You'd been shot, Harrison was acting like a zombie, we didn't hear anything for hours, they won't let us see him, and neither of us has been out of this hospital for two days!"

Paul noticed their appearances for the first time.  Norton looked the better of the two, but he was rumpled and bleary-eyed.  Suzanne's hair was limp, her eyes slightly rimmed with red, dark circles under them highlighting the paleness of her cheeks.  He looked appropriately guilty.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.  "I wasn't thinking.  I know this hasn't been easy on you."

"I called Uncle Hank," Suzanne said, fighting to rein in her own overly-volatile emotions.  She needed a full night's sleep, a hot shower, and a decent meal before she'd be even half-human again.  "He called the hospital and cleared everything.  He's trying to find a specialist for Harrison.  There just isn't anything else we can do.  Maybe the people here can help him."

"You've done a good job.  Thank you."

Suzanne slumped down to sit on the edge of the bed.  "God, Paul, I'm sorry.  We almost killed you; I don't have any right to yell at you.  I'm just tired, and scared."

Paul reached out a hand and patted her on the arm.  "We'll talk about that later, but right now I want you to get Derriman or Coleman in here.  A couple of them stayed behind, didn't they?"

Norton nodded uncertainly.  "What are you planning, Colonel?"

"We have to get Blackwood out of here – _now_.  Whatever specialist General Wilson finds can treat him at the Cottage, but we can't leave him in some loony bin," Ironhorse stated firmly.

Suzanne shook her head.  "But what if they can help?"

"Like they helped Sylvia?" the soldier asked.  "Look, just go with me on this one, people.  We have to get him back to the Cottage before he withdraws so far we _can't_ get him back."

"Is this a hunch, Colonel?" Drake asked.

"I guess you could call it that."

The two civilians exchanged worried, but decided looks.  Ironhorse was right. They'd been too scared to voice their fears about Blackwood's sanity aloud, but now that Paul had, they could no longer deny their own fears.

The soldier sensed their agreement.  "Good.  Once I get out of here we'll set Blackwood straight."

"I hope so.  We need him," Norton said sincerely.

"I know that, Mr. Drake," Ironhorse replied softly.

"What about you?  Are you planning on sneaking out of here, too?" Suzanne asked.

Ironhorse cleared his throat and sighed.  "Not just yet."

Startled expressions registered as the two civilians remembered the other time the Special Forces officer had actually been hospitalized following an injury – in that case the result of their encounter with aliens in the Fort Streeter vaults.  He lasted less than forty-eight hours before he tried walking out.

"I know you're both thinking about the Streeter incident, but don't worry, I'll be staying here for another twenty-four hours," Ironhorse assured them.

"I'm glad to hear it," Dr. Richards said as she stepped in to rejoin the threesome.

"How did you manage to talk him into that?" Suzanne asked the woman.

Alison shrugged, but she was smiling.  "It was his decision."

"Two reasons, people," Ironhorse filled them in, glad the doctor had made no mention of their deal.  "One, I think Harrison can use the time to get his feet under him before he has to deal with me, and two, I'm far from stupid, regardless of what you might think."

Norton leaned forward in his wheelchair ready to argue.  "Now, Colonel, we never—"

"I'm a soldier, and to do the best job I can I need full mobility in this arm," he interrupted.

Alison smiled.  "And with luck and that attitude, Colonel, you'll get it."

"I hope so, Doctor."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne and Norton paced while the two Omega Squad members presently at the hospital met with Ironhorse.  Alison tried to get the injured man to put the interrogation off when she saw how drained the short visit with Suzanne and Norton left him, but Ironhorse steadfastly refused.  It had something to do with Blackwood, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted the details.  Suzanne and her friends were obviously involved in something more important than they were willing, or able, to admit to.  And something told her she should help them any way she could.

 _Besides_ , she thought, _what are best friends for?_

She finished adjusting the dressing and left the soldier to talk to his people.  Standing outside the room, Alison stretched, then headed for the waiting room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Suzanne?"

McCullough turned to find Alison waiting to speak to her, an expression somewhere between guilt and excitement playing across her face.  "What's going on?  Is it Paul?"

"Oh, no, he's fine," Richards said.  She stepped up to Suzanne, saying softly. "I know you're all involved in something big.  The administrator came down and sealed my files on Colonel Ironhorse.  And I know it's something you can't talk about."

Suzanne nodded.

"That's all fine, but I have a hunch your colonel's going to do something the administrators of this hospital probably aren't going to like too much.  Am I right?"

"Probably," Suzanne admitted hesitantly.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you, if you need my help, you just have to ask, okay?"

Suzanne pulled back, slightly startled at the woman's offer of assistance.  It had been far too long since anyone had willingly lent them aid.  "I'll let you know."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Sergeant, that just isn't going to work here," Suzanne argued with Stravrakos.  "This isn't a battlefield, it's a hospital."

"Yes, ma'am," the man said, looking to Derriman for help.

"Look, Dr. McCullough, there just isn't a whole lot else we can do.  If we try and sneak in, and we get caught, we'll end up having to push our way out; someone might get hurt.  Or we'll end up at the local police station, and I really don't think General Wilson would appreciate the publicity.  I _know_ Colonel Ironhorse wouldn't," Derriman argued in his soft Kentucky drawl.

"He's got a point there, Suzanne," Norton said.

The microbiologist gave the computer expert a "thanks a lot" look.  With both Harrison and Ironhorse laid up, she'd somehow ended up the new civilian-in-command, and she was just beginning to realize how difficult the position could be.  Standing against the three determined sergeants wasn't easy, but she continued to press her case.

"If you go storming in there with guns and demand they turn Harrison over, don't you think they'll call the police anyway?"

"We aren't going to point them, Doctor.  And it won't matter if they call the cops or not once we have him," Stravrakos explained in a tone he reserved just for civilians.  "We'll have him out of here and on the way back to the Cottage before anyone can stop us."

"Is Ironhorse still awake?" Suzanne demanded.  She'd take it up with him, if she had to.  There was no way she was going to let the soldiers try anything that might result in someone getting hurt.

"No, ma'am," Derriman replied, the concern he felt for his commander softening his voice.  "He drifted off before we left."

She sighed.  "Look, Dr. Richards offered us her assistance, maybe—"

"She knows about this?" Coleman asked, her eyebrows pitching downward.  She sounded remarkably like Ironhorse.

"Not the details, but she figured Paul was going to try and pull something concerning Harrison.  What if we talk to her and see what she says?" Suzanne offered hopefully.

The three Omegans exchanged hesitant looks.

"All right, Doctor, but on one condition," Derriman decided.

"Name it," Suzanne said, willing to settle for anything at this point.

"If she won't go along, you hold her out of the way while we go get Dr. Blackwood like the Colonel said," Derriman stated.

Suzanne nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"With _guns?_ " Alison asked aghast.

"We're soldiers, ma'am," Derriman replied, doubting that Dr. Richards was going to be much help.

"I think I have another way," the physician told the assembled group.

"Well, please, let's hear it," Norton urged.  The whole situation was rapidly turning into a routine from a Keystone Kops movie.

"I did a little reconnoitering of my own.  They still have Dr. Blackwood sedated.  I think I know how we can get him off the ward without raising too much suspicion.  The hospital grapevine is working overtime on this one; everyone knows this is a peculiar situation.  _If_ we can get him off the floor, you can just wheel him out here without interference."  Her blue eyes twinkled.  "It won't be the first time we've 'lost' a patient between two floors."

"Go ahead, Doctor," Derriman said, intrigued.  A grin spread across his face as she explained.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Dr. Alison Richards wiped her hands on her lavender lab coat and stepped into the reception area on the third floor, Ward D – Mental Health Services.  Coleman and Derriman, dressed in green scrubs, followed her with a gurney.

Looking up from the latest issue of _People_ , the technician eyed the threesome disdainfully before she asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I've been waiting for some medical history to reach me on a patient of mine that you have up here.  Harrison Blackwood?"

The woman checked the list of patients scotch-taped to the countertop.  "Yes, we have him, but it says he's been admitted for a seventy-two hour hold and evaluation.  There's still a full day to go."

Alison nodded gravely.  "I wish I could let this wait, but it's much worse than I expected."  The physician sighed heavily for effect.

The technician's expression began to turn worried.  "What's wrong with Mr. Blackwood?"

"Well, I can't say too much, you understand, but he's scheduled for surgery in two hours and we need to get him downstairs for a prep," Alison explained in her most business-like tone laced with a dash of hospital intrigue.

"Prep?" the technician questioned, her fingers beginning to fumble with a well-worn eraser.

Dr. Richards regarded the woman patiently.  "We'll have to shave his head, and—"

The technician sat up straighter.  "He's having brain surgery?" she whispered, looking around to see if anyone had overheard.

"I sure you know he was admitted under some, uh, rather unusual circumstances?" The woman nodded.

"Well, let's just say that this guy's not an ordinary civilian," Allison let the information sink in before she continued.  "There are people who want him treated for his condition, as soon as possible."

The technician reached out, hastily fumbling for the correct file.  "I _knew_ something was up," she said softly.  "Strangest thing I've seen in years."

Allison nodded, her expression grave.  The woman was convinced she had a spy on her ward.  Now, the question was, would she help Alison get him released?

"If you could let his doctor know we're here, I'd like to get Mr. Blackwood downstairs as soon as possible."

The technician nodded, picking up the phone and calling the attending physician.  He arrived in less than a minute and led Alison into his office, where she related the same story.  He was a harder sell than the technician, but Ali wasn't going to be deterred now that she'd set her mind to getting Harrison off the ward.

After twenty minutes of heated discussion Alison played her last card.  " _Look_ , I don't have a choice in the matter.  Some Pentagon official is running this show.  How has Blackwood been behaving?"

"He became rather violent yesterday," the physician said, mentally debating if he believed a word of what Richards was telling him.

Alison's eyes flew wide.  "What?  Why wasn't I notified immediately?"

"Because we had no idea you were planning to operate on the man!" the doctor argued, but he really starting to worry as Alison began to pace.  "He became very excited and combative.  We had to sedate him."

" _Sedate_ him?" Alison asked, coming to an abrupt halt.  She let a touch of the fear she felt at trying something as insane as this ruse slip into her voice and eyes, pinning the man with an incredulous glare.  "You gave him _drugs?_ "

"Well, yes, of course…"  The doctor trailed off.  He could see a malpractice suit looming on his horizon; it wasn't a pretty sight.

"Oh, this is great, just great!"  Ali stormed around the small office.  "Are you _trying_ to kill this man?  Fine, I'll just let the guy from the Pentagon know—"

That was all it took; the doctor signed the release, and Alison stepped out, nodding curtly to the two soldiers standing outside the door and trying hard not to smile at the performance that had been easily overheard.

Stalking down the hall they located the room noted on Blackwood's chart and entered.

Harrison lie quietly, soft restraints holding his wrists to the rails raised on either side of the narrow bed.  Removing them, Allison lowered one bed rail and let the two soldiers move the astrophysicist to the gurney.  He was still unconscious.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

After a quick examination in an ER treatment room, Alison nodded and the three soldiers maneuvered Blackwood into a wheelchair and left with him.

"Ali, are you going to get into trouble over this?" Suzanne asked, watching them go.

"Suz, if I do, I'll just tell them I was under orders from a federal or military agent and let them try to find a way to track that story," she replied with a conspiratorial grin.

Suzanne shook her head.  "We really appreciate it.  Paul has some uncanny hunches at times, and he knows Harrison."

"Well, I just hope he's right about this.  The sedative I gave Dr. Blackwood should keep him under for six to eight hours.  I hope that's long enough for him to get to where he's going, and for you and Norton to get back as well.  He'll need you when he wakes up, if what I read in the chart is accurate.  I sent that along with Sergeant Coleman, by the way."

Suzanne looked slightly startled.  Alison was right, she and Norton could go back to the Cottage now.  The colonel was doing fine, and Alverez and Derriman were staying behind to keep an eye on him.  Besides, she doubted even Alison could keep Ironhorse at the hospital after the promised twenty-four hours elapsed.

"Thank you, Ali.  For everything," Suzanne said, giving the woman a warm hug.

"I'd like to stay in touch, but I have a feeling that's not going to be possible, is it?" Alison asked, doing nothing to hide her disappointment.

"After all you've done, they'd better not try and stop me!"

"Good."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"So, Colonel, how does the shoulder feel?" Dr. Richards asked as she checked the entry and exit wounds.

"Fine," was the succinct reply.

Alison continued to work.  "No, that's not what I need to hear, Colonel.  Is the pain sharp or dull, throbbing or constant, localized or—"

"It's dull, constant, and diffuse," Ironhorse listed stubbornly.

"Thank you," she said.  "I'm going to have one of the IV's removed, if you swear you'll eat some of the supposedly edible organics they serve up around here."

A crooked smile cut across his face.  She was the most unorthodox physician he'd run across in a while.  Actually, he thought, reconsidering, she reminded him of a few doctors he'd met while in Vietnam.  "I'll give it a shot, Doctor."

"You're a braver soul than I am," she muttered more to herself than to him.  "I'm also going to have a tech immobilize this arm against your chest.  I know it won't make for comfortable sleeping arrangements, but I want you to keep the shoulder inactive for at least another forty-eight hours."

Ironhorse nodded.  "Thank you, Doctor."

"Just doing my job, Colonel."

"I was referring to the help you gave my people getting Dr. Blackwood out of here.  Sergeant Derriman told me what you did," Ironhorse corrected.

"I just wasn't comfortable with the idea of guns in the hospital.  Not that I have anything against guns," she added, watching a curious eyebrow edge upward on the soldier's face.  She decided to let him wonder about it.  "And I've certainly heard enough about it from the administrator, but it seems a call from General Wilson – good old Uncle Hank – put an end to my interrogations.  I suppose I should thank you for that?"

"You know General Wilson?" Ironhorse asked, startled.

"Oh, sure.  Suz and I were like sisters in college.  I think I spent more Christmas vacations with her than I did at home.  Uncle Hank even flew us out to Washington D.C. a couple of times.  Nice man," she concluded.

Ironhorse shook his head.  "Doctor, has anyone told you that you have an excellent bedside manner?"

"Oh, a few here and there," she acknowledged with a grin, then she grew more serious.  "Colonel, I do have one favor to ask you."

The soldier studied the woman's expression, wondering if he was going to like what she was about to say and doubting it.  "Yes?"

Alison walked around and pulled a chair over to the bed.  "I know you and Suzanne are involved in something important.  I can feel it."

Ironhorse nodded, wishing there were some way to explain the situation to the woman other than lying to her.  "What're you building up to, Doctor?"

"Colonel, you're going to need a physical therapist for at least four to six weeks after you leave here, and I don't think you're going to be too keen about traveling back and forth to a hospital for the sessions.  I put myself through medical school as a PT tech.  I want the job."

Ironhorse's first reaction was to say no, but she raised some very valid issues.  He would need a therapist, and he couldn't afford to run back and forth to a hospital several days a week.  They'd have to import someone to the Cottage for the time it took for him to get back to a hundred percent.  And after what had happened with Adrian Bouchard, he wasn't looking forward to introducing any strangers into their lives.  Alison was the perfect choice.  They could just give her the "terrorist" story and hope nothing happened to reveal the truth while she was there.

Alison waited while the soldier thought it over, then added, "I have a couple of reasons for asking, Colonel.  First, I'd like to spend some time with a very dear friend of mine, and, to be perfectly honest, I think Suzanne could use a friend right now.  And I'd like a break from here – don't ask me why – and I'm not beyond capitalizing on a situation when I find one.  I won't be a security problem for you."

"I wouldn't think you would be, Doctor," Ironhorse said sincerely.

"So, what do you say?" Alison asked, hopefully.

"I'll need to think about it."

She smiled.  The look on Ironhorse's face told her he'd already decided in her favor. "Just think of me as a drill instructor who is there to make your life miserable for six weeks," she suggested.  "The therapy won't be very comfortable, I'm afraid."

"Doctor, I just want you to get me back to normal as soon as you can."

"That's a deal," she said with a smile.

"Yes, Doctor, I suppose it is, pending a security check," the soldier replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Any change?" Norton asked, rolling into Harrison's bedroom, a tray with coffee and sandwiches balanced in his lap.

Suzanne sat in Blackwood's rocking chair, which she had pulled up alongside the man's bed.  She shook her head.

"Shouldn't the shot Alison gave him already worn off hours ago?"

"Yes.  Norton, I'm afraid he's just decided to wall himself up inside.  I wish Paul were here, I think he could cajole Harrison back.  He doesn't seem to hear me at all."

Norton nodded, moving the food to the nightstand.  He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.  "When's Ironhorse due back?  Tomorrow?"

Suzanne nodded, taking the coffee but passing on the food.  "I called Ali earlier; she said Paul's doing better than she expected, so she's letting him leave in the morning.  And she's coming with him, too.  It looks like he'll have his own private physical therapist for a month, at least.  It'll be nice to have Ali around.  We were like sisters in college."  She checked her watch.  "I should go see how Debi's doing.  I know she's worried.  This has been a strain on her, too."

"Good idea," Norton said.  "I'll sit with the Doc."

"Thanks."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Colonel!" Debi yelled, charging down the drive to meet Ironhorse as he emerged from the van.  She skidded to a stop when she saw his arm, still held immobile against his chest with a shoulder immobilizer.  White dressing was also visible under his flannel shirt.  Concern and fear filled her blue eyes.

"Hello, Debi," he said softly.

"Are you—?  Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly while she watched Derriman, Alverez, and Dr. Richards exit the van.

"I'm doing very well, thanks to Dr. Richards here," he said.

Debi's forehead puckered.  "Do I know you?" she asked.

"You bet you do," Suzanne said, coming up behind her daughter and snaring her in a hug.  "Ali was there when you were born," she told her, adding, "Your father was out of town."

Alison smiled at the girl.  "But I doubt you remember _that_ , but I'll bet you do remember the farm where we used to go watch the horses when your mom was in classes at MIT."

"The horses!  I remember now!" Debi smiled.

"No wonder she took to the horses here," Suzanne said.  "You'll have to fill me in on this secret part of your past, young lady."

Debi nodded with a smile.  "I can introduce you to Solomon if you want," she told Alison.  "He's a nice horse.  The Colonel's teaching me how to ride him," the teenager excitedly added.

"I'd like that," Alison said, grinning at the decidedly uncomfortable expression that settled over Ironhorse's face with the revelation.  She wondered if it wasn't due to the soldier sensing the huge smiles on the faces of his two men.

Walking up to Ironhorse, Debi gave him a gentle hug, careful not to bump his arm.  "I'm glad you're home," she said sincerely.

He smiled and returned the gesture, then told her, "I'm glad to be back, too.  Now,  I need to talk to your mother and Norton, so could you do me a big favor and go see if Mrs. Pennyworth can fix us some coffee and bring it into the living room?"

"Okay," Debi agreed, disappearing back to the Cottage at a run.

"You need to sit down," Alison told Ironhorse, who nodded, swaying slightly until she took his elbow to steady him.  The sudden paleness of the soldier's face and sheen of perspiration caused the physician to frown.  "Now."

"How's Harrison?" Ironhorse asked breathlessly as they walked slowly back to the Cottage.

Suzanne explained as they went, concluding with, "…the sedative's worn off, but it's like he's pulled himself into a trance of some sort and won't come out," as they reached the living room.

Mrs. Pennyworth entered behind them, carrying a tray with several cups of coffee.  Debi followed her with a plate of still-warm gingerbread cookies.

"Here, let me help you with those," Alison said, liberating the cookies.  "They smell wonderful!"

"They are," Debi told her, taking one.  "I'm going up to my room, Mom."

"All right, Chicken.  Be sure you get your homework finished," the microbiologist instructed her daughter.

"I will.  Can I go see Solomon when I'm done?"

Suzanne shook her head.  The girl was horse crazy!  "All right, but be careful."

"Mom," Debi complained, "I know what to do."  With that she left, and Suzanne shook her head.

"I'll just set this over here," Mrs. Pennyworth said, moving across the room to deliver the coffee to a small table.

Norton buzzed into the room, running into Dr. Richards, who was crossing in front of the door, blissfully unaware of his approach, too caught up in the aromas drifting off the plate to notice him.  Alison whooped, more concerned with saving the food than herself.  Luckily, Norton barked out. "Gertrude, ahead two!"

The wheelchair complied and he ended up with a lap full of physician.  They laughed at the scene they presented, the plate of cookies resting on Norton's head, Alison in his lap, her feet swinging in the air.  Their giggles were infectious.

They sobered quickly when Debi ran back into the room, her face drawn.  "Mom, it's Harrison.  He's making weird noises!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne, Allison, and Debi took the stairs, Norton and an amazingly realistic Ironhorse heading for the elevator; as they met outside the closed bedroom door, the four adults exchanged worried looks.  From behind the door came a low, wavering moan.

Debi stepped closer to her mother, her brows knitted together.  Mrs. Pennyworth arrived and urged the girl to her room, saying, "Come along, dear, they know what to do for Dr. Blackwood."

"But I want to help, too," she said, slightly irritated.

"Go on, Chicken," Suzanne said.  "You can help later, when Harrison's doing better, okay?"

The girl nodded and followed the housekeeper.

Suzanne opened the door and they entered.  The room was silent again, Harrison lying still in the bed.  Alison moved past the others, reaching out to check Harrison's pulse and pupils.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he was hypnotized," she concluded, confused.

The three Project members exchanged worried looks.  "He can do that," Suzanne said.  "I mean, he can hypnotize other people."

"He meditates," Norton added.  "He can get pretty far inside."

Ironhorse nodded, remembering the time he nearly started CPR on the man.

"I'm not a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, but I'd guess he's withdrawn too deep, and he's trying to get back," Alison told them.

"What do we do, Doctor?" Ironhorse asked, his own concern climbing.

Alison chewed her bottom lip.  "Where's your specialist?"

"On the way," Suzanne said.  "Uncle Hank said she'd be here this evening."

Richards folded her arms across her chest.  "I don't think we can wait that long.   Did you try a mild pain stimulus to wake him up?"

Suzanne shook her head.  "I should've thought of that."

Alison turned back to Harrison, and taking both of his hands in hers, squeezed hard. A low moan echoed through the room.  She squeezed a second time with the same result. "Talk to him," she told the others.  "He's definitely trying to wake up."

"Harrison?" Suzanne said.  "Harrison, can you hear me?  Come, on, wake up, Harrison."

"Yeah, come on, Doc," Norton added, rolling Gertrude closer.  "I've got a new blend for you to try, and another computer game I can humiliate you with."

Blackwood's head rolled slightly from side to side.  He groaned, his eyes beginning to move sluggishly under the heavy eyelids. 

"Help me sit him up," Alison said, sitting down on the bed.

Suzanne stepped forward, working with Alison to maneuver the astrophysicist to a seated position on the edge of the bed.  Harrison's head hung limply, chin nearly touching his chest.

Taking his shoulders in her hands, Dr. Richards shook the scientist sharply.  "Come on, Dr. Blackwood, let's get those baby blues open."

"Harrison, try," Suzanne urged.  "Open your eyes."

Ironhorse, who had remained silent, stepped forward, and reaching out his good hand, gripped Blackwood's shoulder.  "Come on, Doctor, it's time to wake up."

The reaction to Paul's voice and touch startled everyone, including Harrison.  His eyes flew open, and he lunged off the bed, shoving Alison back into the officer.  Ironhorse bit back a gasp as she fell against his wounded shoulder, but was able to catch her before she fell.

The foursome watched as Blackwood retreated several steps.  He was awake, but he certainly didn't look stable.  No one moved, afraid of the possible results.

The scientist's eyes locked on what he was sure must be a ghost.  Harrison's hand rose slightly in a defensive gesture.

"Dr. Blackwood?" Alison said quietly.  "You're home.  Everything is all right."

"Get out!" Blackwood yelled, confusion swamping him.  _Who was she?  Human?  Alien?  Home?_

"Harrison?" Suzanne said, uncertainly.  "We're just here to help you."

The astrophysicist's eyes remained locked on Ironhorse's.  "You're dead!" he accused loudly.  "Get out!"

"Harrison," Ironhorse started, wanting to assure the man that everything was all right, but he didn't get the opportunity.

Blackwood swayed on his feet.  "Out!"

Alison touched the colonel's arm.  "Let's go."

The four backed slowly to the door, Norton arriving first.  He gripped the knob and turned it, saying.  "Doc, let us help.  Why don't you—?"

Blackwood spun away from the group.  "Just get out… please."  The last, ground out through clenched teeth, was enough to make them comply.

They left the room, gathering in the hall outside the door.

"What do we do now?" Suzanne whispered.

Alison fidgeted.  She wasn't trained to treat mental disturbances.  "I really don't know.  Look, you all know him better than I do.  If you think he might do something self-destructive, then someone should stay with him until that specialist arrives.  Maybe I could—"

"I don't think Harrison would do anything stupid, but I think he needs one of us in there," Norton said simply.

Suzanne nodded.

"I should talk to him," Ironhorse said softly.

"Paul, I don't know if that's a good idea.  You saw how he reacted to you," Suzanne countered, reaching out to lay a hand on the soldier's good arm.

Paul studied the microbiologist's eyes.  She was scared, but then, so was he. "I've seen things like this before, Suzanne.  In battle, sometimes things can get… confused."

"Well, someone has to go back in there," Norton said emphatically.  "The Colonel's got my vote."

"If he gets violent, it could be dangerous for you," Alison added.

Ironhorse nodded.  "I'll take that chance, Doctor."  He turned back to the door, opened it, and entered.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse found Blackwood seated on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands.  Without speaking, the he walked to the rocking chair beside the small fireplace and sat down.

Harrison remained motionless for several minutes, rocking slightly from front to back, then stood.  Without looking at the man watching him, Harrison proceeded to the center of the room and began a slow, rhythmic pacing.  He continued the relentless prowl for almost an hour before he returned to the bed and sat down, forcing himself to raise his head just far enough to stare at Ironhorse.

The Special Forces officer watched, but said nothing, letting Harrison move through his tangled emotions at his own pace, hoping the look of understanding and support he sent the scientist's way would be enough.

"You're supposed to be dead," Harrison said softly, then his voice rose.  "What the _hell_ are you trying to _do_ to me?  Why aren't you _dead?_ "

"You missed," Ironhorse replied calmly, forcing his own fear out of his voice.  Blackwood was walking along the edge of sanity, and he wasn't at all sure he'd be able to say what the man needed to hear to move him away from that brink.

Harrison stood, his body still not under his absolute control, the mixed emotions on his face tumbling over each other in his speech.  "You call that _missing?_ " he snapped, nodding at the dressing and immobilized arm.

"No, I call it stupidity."  Ironhorse watched the blue eyes carefully.  He had to feel his way along, probe, wait.  He could not make a mistake.  Harrison Blackwood was too important to the Project, too important as a friend, to be lost to a misplaced word.

Blackwood looked away.  "I was stupid!  You don't have to tell me, Colonel!  I already know."

"Not you, Harrison, me," Ironhorse countered emphatically, hoping to catch the scientist's attention.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blackwood snapped in an accusing tone.

There was no trust in the man's eyes.  Only anger, and something else Paul couldn't yet decipher.  Harrison was not like the soldiers he'd known who'd fallen over battle-generated edges.  The scientist was battling the dual demons of fear and uncertainty.

Ironhorse allowed himself a deep breath before he said succinctly, "Doctor, you missed."

"Missed?"  It was a hiss.  "That was the first time I've fired a gun at another human being, Colonel."  The blue eyes blazed with a disconcerting intensity.  "The first time, and I was aiming for your heart!"

"I put _myself_ in the line of fire, when I lunged."  Ironhorse felt his jaw tighten.  This wasn't working, he wasn't reaching Blackwood.  He tried an about face.  "You should've _wasted_ me, mister!"

Harrison's face twisted.  He was thrown off balance.  The blue eyes filled with fear.  "I— I _couldn't_ — I failed!"

Ironhorse stood.  This wasn't going at all the way he wanted it to.  He wanted Blackwood to understand he wasn't responsible for shooting him, but he was also frightened by the thought of what might happen if he really was taken over, and Harrison failed to kill him.  Paul had his own demons to face.

"I was supposed to kill you!  I gave you my word!" Blackwood cried, the anguish in his voice slicing through Ironhorse.  "But I failed!  I couldn't do it.  I failed you, Suzanne, Norton."

The colonel cursed silently.  There was no way to anticipate Harrison's wild mood swings.  The scientist was bouncing between two extremes, and the gulf between them was about to consume him.

"Look, Harrison, you thought I was an alien," Ironhorse reasoned.  "You did what you had to do.  You got the gun.  And—"

"I should've kill—?"  Blackwood stopped short, his face wrinkling.  He covered his eyes with his hands.  "How could I kill you?  I don't kill, but you were absorbed.  I _killed_ you!"

Ironhorse forced his voice to remain calm, but the pounding of his heart almost drowned out his own words.  "No, Doctor, you didn't.  Harrison, listen to me, please.  At the last moment, whether or not you knew it, you pulled that shot.  If I'd been standing still, I wouldn't have been hit at all.  You didn't hurt me, Harrison; you couldn't.  This injury is _my_ fault, not yours."

"How can you know that?" Harrison snapped, more confused than ever.  He _had_ failed.  He couldn't carry through on a sworn promise to free Ironhorse's trapped soul, but at the same time, he'd tried to murder his best friend.  It made no sense.  The contradiction was irreconcilable.  Nothing since he saw the Geiger counter leap into the red made any sense.

"I can't explain it, exactly, but it's true.  I know you missed because, somehow, you knew it was still me," Paul pressed, watching the emotions on Blackwood's face and hoping he said the right thing.

Harrison squeezed his eyes shut, then opened then, yelling, "But, I was _supposed_ to kill you!"

Frustration breached the soldier's fragile veneer of control.  "Yes!  _If_ I was an alien!  You know what I could do!"

"Of course I do, that's why I shot you!" Blackwood argued, his hands flying up, dancing out of control to make the point.

"But you _missed!_ " Ironhorse countered, pointing an accusing finger at the scientist.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne, Norton, and Alison looked up from the coffee they were sipping in silence in the living room.  The angry voices echoing down from the second floor were indecipherable, but the volume was escalating.

"You think we should go up there?" Norton asked.

Suzanne shook her head.  "I don't think either one of them is going to appreciate us butting in."

"I'm a little worried about the Colonel," Alison admitted.  "He's not up to anything physical."

"I don't think it'll come to that," Suzanne said, crossing her fingers at the same time.  "Harrison can see Paul's hurt, and he's not a violent man."

"I'd still feel a whole lot better if we went up there, just in case," Alison argued.

Norton nodded.  "So would I."

"Okay," Suzanne said.  "But we stay on this side of the door, unless it sounds they're about to kill each other."

"You'll get no argument from me on that one," Drake said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The two men paced around the room, maintaining as much distance from each other as possible.  Ironhorse's mind worked frantically, searching for some way to integrate the contradiction that tormented the scientist.  It was a no-win situation, and at some level he knew Blackwood realized it.  But how could he make Harrison see it?  He stopped the back and forth prowl, coming to a stop in front of the empty fireplace.  His back to Harrison, he rested one hand on the small shelf that served as a mantle.

"Paul, you don't understand," Blackwood said softly, his tears clear in the choked tone.  "I should've known it was you.  Suzanne and Norton both said so, but I was so scared I couldn't think straight.  I lost control.  The fear beat me."

"No, Doctor, _you_ don't understand."

Paul's voice was low, overly-controlled, and that tone was the first thing to break through Harrison's self-recriminations.  He stopped as well, watching the soldier.  A light tremor passed over Blackwood.

Ironhorse slowly turned to face the scientist.  "You _don't_ take chances like that, Harrison, not in this war.  You had every reason to think I'd been absorbed.  We trust the Geiger counters to be an accurate check – we have to.  One day you, me, Suzanne, Norton, any of us might end up one of those monsters.  I need to know you'll be there to stop me."  He turned back to stare at the black hearth, feeling slightly light-headed.  He heard Blackwood take a deep breath and knew he was finally, really listening.  He pressed on.  "I don't know what happens to the human soul when an alien takes over a body, but if I was trapped in my body, and an alien hurt any of you.  I— I don't want to have to deal with that.  It would destroy what was left of me if I ever hurt any of you."

Harrison felt the confusion begin to slip away.  No easy answers.  The situation itself was flawed.  It was impossible to escape human fallibility.

"I know," he said hoarsely.  "I don't think I could, either."

"What're we arguing about?" Ironhorse asked, his voice tired.  He examined Blackwood over his shoulder.  The man's blue eyes were sad, tired and hurting, but they were sane.

"I honestly don't know, Colonel," Harrison said, shuffling over to stand next to Ironhorse.

Black eyes locked on blue.  "When I found you, after Quinn had you, I had no way of knowing if you'd been taken over, nothing but my instincts.  I was a split second away from blowing you away," the soldier said softly, "but I couldn't do it."

Harrison nodded.  That moment had haunted his dreams for several weeks afterwards:  Ironhorse holding the nine millimeter on him, making the decision.

"It came down to a feeling," Paul continued, "a knowing that's outside the limit of the senses.  I trusted that feeling, and I was right.  And that's exactly what you did, Harrison."

The astrophysicist looked doubtful.

"Harrison, listen, a part of your brain was doing what it knew it had to: getting ready to kill me.  But another part realized I wasn't an alien.  It stopped you from hurting me."  Ironhorse reached up and carefully touched his own shoulder.  "This wasn't your fault.  If I hadn't had that run-in with the alien in the warehouse the Geiger counter wouldn't have gone off, and my reflexes wouldn't have been on autopilot."  That seemed to reach Blackwood, drawing him back to firmer ground.

"But you're afraid I won't be able to– to do what I have to do in the future, if this should happen again.  You're not sure if you can trust me, are you?" Harrison asked, his voice breaking.

Ironhorse weighed the statement.  It was an honest question and it deserved an honest answer.  "Harrison, I trust you to make the right decision… what scares me—"  Paul paused, but then forced himself to go on.  "I sometimes wonder if I can."

"You can, Paul.  That's something _I_ know."  Harrison felt the confusion and tension slip from his body, leaving him weak and unsteady, but once again a complete, if still slightly fractured, whole.

Ironhorse reached out with his good hand and gripped Harrison's forearm.  "I think you should sit down."

"Yeah," Blackwood whispered, shuffling back toward the bed.  "Why does fear have to come out sounding so angry?"

"I wish I knew, Doctor."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The threesome waited anxiously in the hall.  The voices had dropped off by the time they arrived and now they couldn't hear anything from the other side of the door.

"I say we go in and see if any blood was spilled," Norton said, rolling Gertrude toward the closed door.  The two women followed.

Norton pulled the door open to find Ironhorse carefully helping Harrison ease down onto the bed.  The two men looked up.

"Well, don't just stand there staring," Blackwood said as he sat down.  "Come on in and stare."

The three entered, looking guilty.  "We thought we'd better check for casualties," Norton explained hesitantly.

The pair nodded.  "No casualties," Harrison said.  "Not this time."

Ironhorse walked back over to sit in the rocking chair where he could study Blackwood, and quickly concluded that the man was safe again.

War was hell for a reason.  They forced themselves to trust their actions, believe they knew what they were doing, but there were always going to be mistakes.  The soldier accepted them as part of the human condition, but he worried about the number they could make, and still survive.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~*

 

"Push, Colonel, come on, what's the matter with you?  Put some gut into it," Alison cajoled, pounding on the gym mats.

Ironhorse gritted his teeth, pressing against the weight machine.  The pressure sent streaks of pain up his arm, but it was much better than it had been for the last few weeks. The doctor hadn't been kidding when she equated the therapy to a drill instructor's conditioning.

 _A drill instructor would look good at this point_ , he decided.

"Harder," Alison commanded.

Ironhorse focused and panted twice before pressing harder, pushing the weight to its apex, then lowered it back to the starting position with only a slight wobble.

"Yes!" she exclaimed.

Exhausted, Ironhorse smiled, the crooked, open expression vanishing when he heard clapping.

"Very impressive, Colonel," Harrison said, ending on a particularly loud clap.

"Blackwood, what're you doing in here?" the soldier growled menacingly.

"Why, I'm watching your progress, of course," was the innocent reply.

Ironhorse glared at the scientist, but it didn't appear to make an impact.  "I don't need you watching my progress.  If you don't mind, the doctor and I have another—"

Blackwood dropped down on the workout mat next to Alison, smiling.  "Oh, don't let me stop you, Paul.  I wouldn't want to make you late for supper."

Ironhorse was about to threaten violence, but the sound of the all-too-normal baiting was too good to chase away.  Harrison was back to his old self – for better and for worse – and the colonel was still enjoying it, although how much longer that tolerance would last was anybody's guess.

Alison slapped Blackwood's arm and stood.

"Speaking of food, what's on the menu for tonight?" Paul asked, allowing Alison to begin a series of range-of-motion exercises on his shoulder.  It was without a doubt the worst part of the therapy.  He puffed to ease the pain, then took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as she raised his arm, holding it in one position long enough for the muscles to start to twitch.  She moved it to the next position as he sucked in another deep breath.

"It smelled like pot roast for all you carnivorous types," Harrison said, watching Ironhorse's concentration.

 _Breathe out… relax…_ "Don't start with me, Doctor."

"You are what you eat, Colonel."

 _Breathe in… exhale slowly… relax…_ "Well, I suppose that… might explain it."  Ironhorse knew Blackwood was trying to take his mind off the agony Alison was inflicting on him, and he appreciated it.

"What's that?" Harrison asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Ahh," Paul grimaced as Alison found a more tender position.  "You, Doctor…" He panted for several breaths.

"Oh?"

"Head of lettuce," _Exhale…_ "couple of carrot sticks," _Inhale… hold… exhale_ , "and lots of bean spouts."

Alison snickered.

Blackwood made a face.  "Dr. Richards, you must be working him too hard.  It's affecting his sense of humor."

Ali shook her head, refusing to be drawn into the battle, and returned Ironhorse's arm to a resting position.

"All right, Colonel," she said, "that's enough for today.  I'll see you two at dinner."  She patted the soldier's forearm and left.

Ironhorse rose slowly while Harrison watched.  The scientist could see the colonel still had a long road ahead of him, and a good deal of discomfort, but his shoulder and arm were healing.  He'd cornered Alison every day for an in-depth report on Paul's progress.

Harrison cleared his throat as the soldier wiped his face on a hand towel, then slipped it around his neck.  "So, Paul, how are you?"

Ironhorse almost smiled at the serious tone of Blackwood's voice, revealing the guilt that still remained.  "Dr. Richards assures me the shoulder should be as good as new in another three weeks."

Harrison nodded.

They paused for a moment, both slightly uncomfortable.

"Well, I guess we'd better get in there, or we'll be late," Blackwood said.

"Yeah."

They walked to the door.  "Paul," Harrison said, "I want you to know, I understand better now, I think.  Thank you."

"Understand what, Doctor?" Ironhorse asked.

"You.  Me.  War, I guess.  What it is to be human, and so vulnerable to human frailties."

The comment was heartfelt and a smile tugged at Ironhorse's lips.  Reaching out, he slapped the man's arm.  "Come on, Doctor, we don't want to miss the edible organics."

Blackwood pulled up short, mouthing "edible organics"?  He shook his head and followed the soldier, a smile finally settling sincerely on his face.


End file.
